ULFRIC: Stormed & Cloaked
by Janus3003
Summary: When Ulfric singlehandedly slays a company of Imperials with his bare hands, it is up to him to save the day from the real villain. Will he rescue Galmar? Will he get the girl? Will he defeat his greatest challenge yet?
The Imperial soldiers cackled as the last priestess of Talos fell to the floor of the abandoned warehouse, her blood-soaked robe clinging to her curvaceous body.

"Such a waste of good flesh," said an Imperial, stroking his greasy beard.

"I would never lay with a Talos worshiper," said another. "It doesn't matter how good they look, because clearly their belief in some ninth invisible sky man means that their intelligence is subpar for an intellectual freethinker like myself." He adjusted his finely crafted helmet.

"And the best part of all this—" said the Imperial Captain, "—is that we will get away with this wanton slaughter of men, women, children, and puppies without retribution of any sort!"

All one hundred of the Imperials laughed over the dead bodies of sexy Nord women, feeble old Nord men, sickeningly cute Nord children, and puppies.

A shadow cast over them from the abandoned warehouse's skylight.

"It's him!" cried an Imperial.

With a tremendous crash, Ulfric Stormcloak, his eyes alive with the fire of battle and vengeance, leapt down through the skylight, raining glass shards upon the Imperials. All had looked upward in awe, with a dozen screaming as the shards impaled their soft, unprotected faces.

"You fools! Kill him!" cried the Imperial Captain, punching his fist into his open hand.

Ulfric was unarmed save for his fists, his feet, and the blazing soul within granted him by the gods. Nevertheless the Imperials were no match for him, few men needing more than a single right cross to enter their eternal sleep.

The Imperial Captain went white as sweat poured down his face. Legend said that Ulfric had been a fighter since the day of his birth. His mother died the day he was to be born, yet the infant Ulfric tore his way through her womb, emerging victorious from her vagina. His father shed a manly tear, losing all doubt that this truly was his son.

The Imperial Captain choked as his last man fell and Ulfric stood before him.

"You are but one man," said the Captain.

"More man than Imperials combined," said Ulfric, slamming his giant fist into the Imperial's sternum. Vibrations coursed through the Captain's skeleton, vibrations so powerful that they shattered every bone to dust. He screamed as his body flopped to the floor, now nothing more than a skin bag full of bone dust, blood, and organs.

Galmar Stone-Fist entered the warehouse, sadly looking over the bodies of the innocent.

"We're too late, Ulfric," he said, imagining the titillating horrors the sexy Nord women must have endured at the grimy hands of the savage Imperial scum.

"Perhaps not, dear Stone-Fist," said Ulfric. He smelled exotic perfume from the corner, beneath some rubble. With one mighty lift, he tore away the debris to reveal a survivor.

It was a dark elf woman. She wore a form-fitting priestess robe, now torn to reveal a shoulder, her flat stomach, and a long leg.

"A dark elf!" said Galmar, drawing his sword. The dark elf woman closed her eyes in fear.

"Stay your hand, Galmar," said Ulfric. "Though her skin is grey, her heart may be white. It has been known to happen from time to time."

Indeed, Ulfric knew well the potential of the Dunmer people. He had once journeyed to Morrowind to teach a class of dark elf adolescents, whose grades had been terrible in their poverty-stricken school. He taught them and loved them, and they learned and loved him in turn. There wasn't a dry eye in the class when Ulfric left, not even Ulfric's. He wept openly, smiling as the dark elf adolescents told him he was the only Nord to ever "get it."

"Please don't hurt me," said the dark elf woman.

Ulfric knelt before her, taking her hand and kissing it. She was truly beautiful, so far as dark elves go.

"Do not be afraid," he said, taking her in his arms and sweeping her off her feet. She curled up against his manly chest, trembling in all the right places as she closed her eyes.

He turned around, and Galmar was missing.

"Galmar?" There was no reply. Ulfric carried the dark elf woman, holding her close to keep her warm in the cold air.

"Ulfric! Help!" cried Galmar. A masked figure held him hostage, a knife to his neck. Just below them was an icy pond.

"Let him go!" demanded Ulfric.

"A poor choice of words!" said the masked stranger, his voice featuring a strong Nord accent.

Galmar plummeted into the icy pond, crying out in pain.

"It is your choice, Stormcloak!" cried the figure as he ran away. "Chase me, or save your Stone-Fist! Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Ulfric dropped the dark elf woman into the snow, who shivered but immediately forgave him.

"Get inside and gather furs and build a fire! Hurry!" Ulfric commanded. The greyskin woman did as she was told without question. Ulfric smiled in approval.

Galmar had managed to pull himself to shore, but lay face down in the snow. He had stopped shivering.

Ulfric, mighty heart pounding in his mighty chest, threw Galmar over his shoulder.

"Fear not, Stone-Fist, dearest friend. You will not die this day, not so long as I draw breath!"

Returning to the abandoned warehouse, he found that the Dunmer had done as he'd asked. There was a pile of furs with a fire built right next to them. She had fallen to the ground, exhausted from the exertion. Her sweat glistened in the firelight, her ample bosom heaving with her deep breaths, her torn skirt now scandalously low on her childbearing hips. Truly, she was a beautiful dark elf woman, as strong and well-spoken as any Nord.

With skills brought about by years of experience, Ulfric tore wet Galmar's clothes from his body, then wrapped him in furs. With a mighty flex, Ulfric's own clothing burst from his body, sparing only his cloak and the fine silk G-string he wore, which provided him the support he needed while allowing his perfectly formed glutes to breathe.

He tossed his cloak to the woman that she may rest upon it, and then climbed under the furs with Galmar.

"You will be in Sovngarde one day, Galmar," said Ulfric, lying on top of him, "but for now, let my warm body delay that final journey."

And delay that journey he did. Chest to chest, waist to waist, Ulfric's skin made Galmar's blood rush throughout his body.

"Oh, Ulfric," said Galmar, a tear in his eye. "Thank you."

"No thanks are ever necessary, my Stone-Fist."

The dark elf woman gasped in surprise. She was back on her feet, pointing at the door.

The masked figure had returned, with bow drawn. He loosed an arrow, which embedded itself in the dark elf woman's shoulder.

"No!" cried Ulfric. "I loved her!"

The masked figure laughed again. "Chase me, or comfort your woman! Bwa ha ha ha ha!" He ran away.

Ulfric ran to the dark elf woman's side, the firelight flattering his chiseled, nearly-naked body.

"Ulfric," said the dark elf woman weakly, "did you mean it? When you said you loved me?"

"Aye," said Ulfric.

"I love you," said the woman. "I have ever since I met you." She groaned in pain.

Ulfric took her in his arms, careful not to worsen her injury. Their eyes closed as their lips met.

"Ulfric," said the dark elf woman, her voice breathy, "I've… I've…"

"You've what, dearest?"

"I've… never _been_ with a man. And now I die without ever having known one."

"Fear not, little dove," said Ulfric. "You look now upon the Cloak." He motioned toward his body from head to toe. "Now let me introduce you to the Storm."

The dark elf woman forgot her pain as pleasure overtook her. With mighty power did Ulfric unleash himself upon her, from all the known positions to ones unknown to both gods and men. She cried out his name again and again, her voice giving way as her ecstasy reached unimaginable heights.

Finally, the arrow took its toll, and she closed her eyes for the last time, a satisfied look on her beautiful face.

Ulfric smiled sadly and kissed her forehead. "You were a credit to your people," he whispered.

He removed himself from her, standing tall and proud, a fire in his eyes as he clenched his fists. Galmar looked up in awe and fear.

"Stay here, Stone-Fist. Rest. I shall avenge her."

Roaring, Ulfric rushed out into the wild. A wild blizzard had begun, but the he was undeterred. No tracks could hide from him, no signs of life could escape his notice. The masked figure was taken by surprise.

Ulfric found him hiding in a cave.

"How?" asked the man.

Ulfric's right fist crashed into the stranger's face. It hurt his hand. It was like Ulfric had just punched a steel wall.

The masked man tore away all his clothing, revealing a body as glorious as Ulfric's. He removed his mask and threw it to the floor. Ulfric gasped.

It was another Ulfric Stormcloak.

"What is this?" demanded Ulfric.

"I am you!" said the other Ulfric. "I am here to teach you one thing: friendship is weakness! Love is folly! Only alone can you reach your true potential!"

Like wild animals they fought. Both Ulfrics tore and clawed at the other, bathing the floor in each other's blood. They knocked over a brazier, which lit a circle of flame about the combatants. Lightning struck outside as Molag Bal looked down on them and laughed.

No words were exchanged, for none were needed. Each blow shook the very foundations of the world, each crash made gods flinch. Their duel raged for days, both of them armed and armored only with what had been given them at birth: their flesh, their muscle, and their fiery spirit.

But as all things must, the fight came to its end. Both Ulfrics, beaten, bruised, and bloody, fell to the floor.

"I'll kill you," said one, his breath heavy. "I'll kill you."

The other said nothing. He reached out his powerful legs, squeezing his foe's skull between his sculpted thighs. The hapless Ulfric panicked and flailed uselessly as the other Ulfric pushed his legs together, his expression dour and unchanging, even with the satisfying sensation of his foe's skull splitting beneath the strain.

With the most horrifying scream that ever has been or ever will be, Ulfric's head exploded in the vice grip of Ulfric's thighs.

Ulfric stood. Victorious, he took his foe's decapitated body and held it high above him. His roar echoed all throughout Skyrim, daring any to come and challenge him, should they wish a most painful death.

He slammed the corpse over his knee, splitting its spine and dropping it to the cave floor. He was about to leave, only to finally become aware of a door in the back of the cave. He opened it, ready for some new challenge.

It was Elenwen, the Thalmor leader that had personally tortured him all those years ago. She was bound, suspended horizontally a few feet above the ground. She wore a black latex catsuit, vacuum sealed to every curve of her body. A ringed gag held her mouth open, a black cloth covering her eyes.

Ulfric removed her blindfold and gag.

"You," he said.

"Ulfric!" Elenwen said with a gasp. "What happened?"

"The impostor is dead. And you should be, too."

"Please, wait!" said Elenwen. She glanced at her bonds. "I have learned my place now. I've done horrible things. Not only to you, but to others, and I must be punished. Punish me, Ulfric Stormcloak! Mete out justice upon me!"

And then Ulfric meted out justice with his Storm.


End file.
